


To The Victor The Spoils

by JinxedAmbitions



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Angel Castiel, Body Horror, Dark fic, Demon Dean Winchester, Gore, Knight of Hell Dean, M/M, Violence, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-17 01:06:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2291318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JinxedAmbitions/pseuds/JinxedAmbitions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the forces of Heaven and Hell met on the battlefield, the demons' charge was led by the Knight of Hell wearing the face of the "Righteous Man."</p>
            </blockquote>





	To The Victor The Spoils

**Author's Note:**

> I was in the mood to write something dark and gory. This is what happened. This is a purely dark fic. Don't read if you want redeemable Dean. It's violent and gory as hell, because I was in the mood. It's meant to be horrible, so don't read it like it's going to be destiel where they find love even in the darkest place and then get upset with me for glorifying unhealthy relationships. 
> 
> That being said, there is no noncon here. There is not meant to be noncon here, but given the nature of the story and the prevalence of noncon in dark destiel fics, I can see things being read like that, so read at your own risk, but that is not the intention.

When the forces of Heaven and Hell met on the battlefield, the demons' charge was led by the Knight of Hell wearing the face of the "Righteous Man."  His sandy hair was matted with gore. His jagged, claw-like fingers dripped blood as they dug into the scruff of the hell hound he rode. The beast's howls mingled with Dean's as they tore out ahead of the pack.

He removed the First Blade from the scant leather armor that covered his chest—once the skin of a man before he found himself on the rack—as the first line of angels descended upon him. He thrust the blade deep into an angel's gut when it tried to attack him from above. The spray of blood and grace showered Dean, and he licked the warm liquid from his lips as he removed the blade from the horrified angel. His hound tore into the unfortunate creature as its wings and strength failed it.

The hoard of demons let up a cry of pleasure as first blood was theirs. Dean's roar was the loudest, echoing around them. Even archangels cowered as Dean hacked off another angel's wings, keeping one of the singed feathers and knotting it into his hound's snarled mane.

The battle was bloody, fueling the demons' lust and staining the wings of the Heavenly Host. Lucifer watched from one side of the battlefield, wearing a proud smile, while his brother Michael watched from the other with a sense of satisfaction as the apocalypse rained down upon them.

Angels avoided Dean as he cut across the field, laying waste to all that stood in his way, whether angel or demon. His hell hound took just as much pleasure in each kill as her master, tearing at flesh and feathers with limitless enthusiasm. 

The angel Castiel broke ranks as he watched another brother fall at the Demon's blade. He watched as the Righteous Man dismounted his beast and grappled with it for the corpse of his fallen brethren. The Demon had his jaw unhinged and his long teeth buried in the angel's neck as the hound tore at the flesh of angel's body, trying to gain purchase. He watched in horror as they tore the poor solider to pieces. Dean devoured the glowing heart, grace dripping from his lips like luminescent tears. It burned paths down his chin, and scarred his hands, but he swallowed it down as though it didn't burn him from the inside.

The Righteous Man wiped his grace covered hands down his face and neck, painting himself in the blood of his enemy and the scorch marks it rendered to demon flesh.

Castiel broke away from the front to intercept the demon as he approached another angel, which tried to flee, but the demon's hound caught it by the wings. Its jaw broke the sturdy bones of the wing as though they were twigs, snapped for kindling.

Castiel approached Dean from behind, flying as fast as his blood drenched wings could carry him, his blade held high. He was one of Heaven's finest soldiers.

Dean felt truly calm for the first time since he's been dragged to Hell by the hound he now called his own. The clash of battle brought a stillness to the unkillable demon, a focus so precise that he could hear every beat of the wings that carried an angel barreling toward him. He let his hound toy with the angel it had caught as he turned to watch the other angel's approach.

Black wings.  _Gorgeous black wings_. Not something many angels wore, Dean noted as he stared right at the creature. The angel came up short when it realized that it had been spotted. Black wings and piercing blue eyes, a celestial oddity, and the perfect trophy from battle.

Dean bared his bloody teeth, his tail slashing behind him like the crack of a whip. The barb at the end caught the corpse of a fallen demon, and blood sprayed up behind him. Dean smiled when the angel visibly steeled himself, determined to face Dean, foolish creature.

Castiel stepped forward, bringing his blade down but dancing back and slashing with a second blade he'd picked up when Dean reached to grab him. His blade tore into the flesh that sparsely covered Dean's torso—not his own flesh but the flesh of one he'd likely tormented for ages. A piece of the patchwork fell away as the demon stepped back. It revealed branded skin, sigils burned into his flesh.

Dean looked down when the skin over his ribs was revealed and smirked. His tortured flesh seemed to unnerve the heavenly creature, and Dean used his own blade to cut away the rest of his covering. It fell away to reveal his scarred flesh and trails of tacky blood that had made their way under his "armor."

"Like what you see, angel?" Dean taunted, waiting for the angel's next attack.

"Abomination," Castiel cried as he lashed out again. He tried to feint away again, but he didn't expect the demon's tail the whip out and catch him by the wrist as he danced back.

"Precisely," Dean laughed as the barb on his tail dug into the angel's flesh. He tightened his tail's grip until it was buried so deep it reached bone. The angel dropped its blade, trying desperately to pull its hand away. "I think I will wear your wings into my next battle," he commented, suddenly letting the angel go.

Castiel fell back into the dirt, clutching his wrist, healing it with his grace. However, a thick band of scar tissue remained when he finished. He looked down in confusion then up at Dean's leering face.

"Angel blood," Dean said, waggling his eyebrows. 

Castiel's stomach turned as he lifted his blade again lashing out at at the demon's legs. The blade sank deep into the demon's thigh, and Castiel used it to drag it down to the mud. They grappled, trying to gain the upper hand. 

Dean dug his claws into the angel's forearms, and the angel tried to burn him out of his body as he wrapped his fingers around Dean's throat. "Tickles," Dean laughed as he felt the skin of his neck bubble and melt under the angel's grip, "but this ain't a meat suit, I'm the real deal."

The angel was undeterred and slapped his palm against Dean's chest. Dean watched in sick fascination as the angel's hand began to glow. Tendrils of white fire began to web out across his chest.

Dean grunted as it felt a thousand times worse than the fire of the pit. "You can't cleanse my soul, angel. It's blacker than your wings," Dean growled as he opened his jaw wide.  He dug his claws into the flesh where Castiel's wings met his body and held tight. As the angel reared up in agony, Dean sank his dagger-like teeth into the angel's throat.

Hot blood poured into his mouth as he rolled them over, so he laid atop the angel. It writhed beneath him, and he tightened his grip on it's wings as punishment for his chest. He could feel the angel's throat trying to knit itself back together as he continued to drink happily from him. 

Dean pulled back, mouth dripping over the angel's pale face. He smiled as he licked his crimson lips. The angel looked up at him dazed.

Dean was not expecting the angel to bury a blade into his spine. His own body went rigid as he felt its fire burn through him, trying to burn the very life out of him. It was paralyzing, giving the angel the opportunity to push him off. However, the angel was still weak, and he barely got Dean pushed to the side before his strength failed him. 

He tried to crawl over Dean's body, but his own was slow and by the time he had draped himself over Dean's torso, the demon was coming back to his senses. 

Dean's tail agonizingly pulled the blade from his back, just as Castiel tried to finish him off by pumping him full of the last of his grace. Dean snarled and used the angel's own blade, burying it in the angel's glowing hand. It pierced straight through into Dean's own gut, and they both cried out.

Castiel collapsed on Dean's chest, his body limp. He looked up into Dean's black eyes with fear, unable to move but still aware. Dean pulled the blade from them and tossed it aside with shaking hands.

He brought his other hand up and placed it gently on the back of Castiel's head as they looked into each other's eyes. He stroked the soft hair gently as he watched the angel's eyes crinkle in confusion. Everything felt so heavy. Even the smells of battle felt like a lead weight in his chest. It would be so easy to admit defeat, accept that he had met his match in this peculiar angel.

It seemed that the angel felt the same as his eyelids got heavier, hiding some of his eyes' stormy hue. Dean smiled, lips closed hiding the horror of his mouth. He gently pulled the angel up until they were face to face—the angel's weight suffocating him slowly. Nose to nose the watched each other, a battle of wills even if they were both broken.

Dean blinked first, pulling the angel into a soft kiss, just a gentle press of lips. The hint of fire in their contact made then both smile. It was as though even if Cas seemed to reciprocate the small comforting contact, his very essence still wanted to burn Dean out of himself.  

Dean pulled away and met the angel's eyes again. The angel looked almost serene. Dean let the black bleed from his eyes and allowed his angel to see their true color. "What is your name, angel?" he asked, still stroking the creature's hair.

"Castiel," the angel said in a hoarse rumble. 

Dean smiled, pulling Castiel in for another, slightly more demanding, kiss. When he pulled back, he looked at Cas for a long moment. "Castiel...Cas. My angel," he said. He cherished the look of horror on Cas' face as he dug his claws into the back of his neck and tossed him off. He landed hard as Dean rose slowly to his feet.  His entire body shook from the exertion, but Dean refused to admit that defeat.  

Castiel tried to rise, to die fighting, but Dean held him down placing a heavy boot to the center of the angel's back, between his wings. Dean reached down and ran his claws through the tar colored feathers, relishing the hoarse moan it pulled from the angel. Such strong creatures cursed with such fragile bodies. Dean buried his fingers in the wing and wrenched it, hearing the bones crack. 

Castiel did not cry out, but his fingers bled where they clenched at the mud and rocks beneath him. Dean removed his foot, and took hold of Cas by the base of his wing, where it met his shoulder. He straightened and slowly began to drag the broken angel across the battlefield.

Soldiers on both sides stopped to watch as he walked back toward the Gates of Hell. Angels wore their horror on their borrowed faces as their helpless brother was dragged behind the knight. Dean's hell hound trotted happily beside them, the arm of another angel clenched between the teeth of one head while the other snapped and howled excitedly.

The demon and the angel's blood mingled as it trailed behind them leaving scorched earth in their wake. Castiel tried to grab for Dean, but all his useless limbs could reach was his tail. He took it in his hand as it swished back and forth, his touch surprisingly gentle. The barb, however, immediately dug into the flesh of his palm.

Dean looked down at him questioning, but making no move to tear his tail away. "Why me?" Castiel rasped.

Dean smiled fondly, one of his fangs breaking the line of his lips. "You're my trophy Cas. The spoils of war. You are to be cherished. I remember your name. You were a part of the army that came for me when I was the  _Righteous Man_ , before I wore the Mark. You tried to heal my soul. I thought I recognized your grace today when you tried to do that same, and then you told me your name, and I knew," Dean said as he let Cas down gently. "My beautiful savior."

He rolled the angel onto his back, careful of his mangled wing. "Then why not kill me?" Castiel asked, his hand still clutching Dean's tail like it would protect him.

"Because our destinies are intertwined. I would never kill you, Cas. I'm going to return the favor. I'm going stain your grace until your eyes bleed as black as those beautiful wings. Then when you are a true demon like me, you will lead by my side," Dean explained, bending down to lift Cas' body like he would his bride. Cas was limp in Dean's arms, his tattered wings hanging over his forearm and brushing the ground. 

Dean carefully positioned Cas' head to rest against his bare shoulder before walking into the flames at the Gates. They licked at the angel's wings, singing the already abused feathers. 

Castiel's unfocused eyes held Dean's as they moved. There was no fear in his gaze, only steel. He would be a fearsome demon. Dean ducked his head to press his lips to Cas' damp forehead. This kiss didn't burn Dean, instead it warmed something inside him. "My angel..my demon," he said softly as he held Castiel just a little tighter.


End file.
